


If Death Was Beautiful

by neauxzi (yuuriyuu)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, F/M, Gen, I swear, Jealous Otabek Altin, Long-Haired Yuri Plisetsky, M/M, Minor Jean-Jacques Leroy/Isabella Yang, My neglected son., POV Otabek Altin, Sugar Daddy, Yuri Plisetsky Needs a Hug, no one dies, no one important at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24286648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuuriyuu/pseuds/neauxzi
Summary: Yuri descends into Otabek's space intentionally and purposeless, kicking over the center console to crawl sloppily into the front passenger seat like the uncouth heathen he is."You get some kind of sick, voyeuristic thrill out of it or something?"
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 14
Kudos: 35





	1. "Lovers"

The golden choker Yuri wears seems smooth in texture, but links part the thin golden stip when it moves against his skin. The links are cut so thin the thing appears as a solid line of gold, pulled just around the base of his neck and sinking over his collarbones. 

It's not exactly distracting, but at the red lights, when Otabek takes glances in the rearview mirror, he notices it. Like, when Yuri sits up from lying all leisurely across the leather overlaid divide, with the top half of himself spilling over into the other seat, and twists himself into a new position -with his knees pulled to his chest-, just right that Otabek catches a bright spark.

And the need to remind Yuri that he should be wearing a seat belt sparks in the back of his throat. He always needs to remind Yuri to wear his fucking seat belt.

"I can't go to fucking St. Petersburg, I have a show next week," Yuri balances the phone between his head and the knee he leans on and tears open a bottle of water with his free hands.

"Fly back after two days just to go back after the performances? Why not just wait?" The water sloshes around such that Otabek can hear it when Yuri shifts around. He's never prudent about the things he says, whether Otabek is listening or not. 

"You could come see me dance instead."

Though, it's impossible not to hear in any case. Otabek's job is to at least feign disinterest for that reason. Some things just aren't his business.

Lately, though, Otabek finds himself trying to figure out what Andrei could be saying on the other end of the line when Yuri's growling at him. What could his voice sound like when he's trying to finesse Yuri over the phone? Is he still slick, slightly smug and entirely brash, even as Yuri curses him to the screen? Is he always patronizing to Yuri's emphatic attempts at appearing strong?

"That's a fucking waste of time and money," Yuri sighs, ironically, as his lover is currently paying top dollar for him to ride around in bourgeois, German luxury. An arrangement that takes nothing from Yuri's usual allowance—as Otabek has only heard. Does that kind of relationship warrant the term "lovers" even?

"Fine then, but it won't be cheap." Yuri says, pulling the phone away from his ear to yell at the receiver. Each word is emphasized as if they make entire sentences by themselves. "My time is valuable."

He flops over again, crossing his leg over a high knee and being overall careless of the fact that he's in a car, at which, Otabek frowns at the road because he can't frown at Yuri. 

"If you want it, yeah," Yuri says, holding the phone centimeters from his ear and tilting his head as he listens. "Don't be stupid, there's always a price," he taunts.

"Go fuck one of them then," he growls. "Raise an army of the illegitimate bastards they pop out too, I don't give a damn."

Otabek almost smirks. He catches himself and flexes his hands around the wheel as he brings them to a stop. The leather around his fingers shifts and rustles quietly as the car clicks and Yuri whines at his phone. There's only so much to occupy himself with, and Yuri's pretty entertaining sometimes, though, tragically struggling sometimes apparently, too.

"Why should I? You should be thankful for me." Yuri snorts.

"I know," he sighs. "Your sweet kitten," he whispers. "You," he says.

So placidly. In the end, he sort of gives in. Otabek knows that string of responses. Sometimes, when he's waiting for Yuri and Andrei to part so he can close the door and be on his way, he hears the way Andrei whispers the call and response to Yuri like a warning. A reminder of his place. 

_I take care of you...Because you're my?...Who do you belong to?_

Otabek wonders if that's the life Yuri means to lead. One where he has to ultimately submit to get what he wants. Who's actually in charge here?

Otabek wonders, but he doesn't judge. Yuri must have his reasons. Everyone that's ever sat behind him has their reasons. Sometimes people just do shit and oftentimes, when it doesn't seem to make sense, they're just caught up.

"Bye."

Otabek checks the mirror quickly, before the light turns green and he presses the gas, in time to see the shadows of the chain links disappear as they fall together and gild over with enough light to smooth them out and beam at him. Yuri's grimaces at his phone screen all the while the green in his eyes seems brighter and more pronounced with their fury.

He sighs again, loudly. It filters into a pained groan and turns to words at the end. "Fuck that bastard!"

The light changes, Otabek presses the gas and returns his gaze to the road. Yuri's suppressed gag resounding in the silence makes him jolt from the waist and square out his shoulders. And then he's tempted to turn around and be sure he didn't just almost…?

Oh, shit?

"Pullover or I'm going to puke all over this fucking car!" Yuri tells him. Otabek goes tense, with aimless urgency being that he can't rush traffic. He doesn't want that mess, he doesn't want that clean up job. God, he doesn't want it.

"Shit," Otabek whispers, checking his side view mirror for cars before he pulls over, already easing onto the break at the sound of Yuri's lurching.

Not in the fucking car. Not in the fucking car. Not-

Yuri hops out before Otabek can actually park, sans his shoes, and bounds off in leaps over the pavement to the nearest trash can. Where people turn quick glances at him as he holds onto the light pole next to the can and literally spills his guts into it. 

Otabek didn't have time to hop out and open the door, which Yuri doesn't wait for half the time anyway, but Otabek gets out as they settle on the curb of a crowded street corner. From the glove compartment, he pulled out a plain, unfolded white napkin to give to Yuri. It waves in the breeze in one hand. while the other curls into the door handle. Ready for when Yuri picks himself up out of his hunch and finds his way back.

If it's embarrassing to up chuck in public like that, he doesn't respond to it in the most Yuri fitting fashion. At least, in the month old awareness Otabek has of him. Perhaps, the fact that he jumped out of a Mercedes to do it is the saving grace of it all. Otabek only sort of waits for him to curse at the bystanders, but he doesn't. 

Yuri returns with the back of his hand hovering before his lips and his eyes cast down. He's shameless to the untrained eye, but Otabek wouldn't know him that well anyway. It's only been a month.

"Here you are," Otabek says, offering out the napkin more noticeably. Yuri almost completely misses while shoving a leg back into the car.

"Thanks," he says, though he doesn't look at Otabek as he wipes his mouth. Otabek doesn't look at him either as he closes the door and peers straight faced looks at the people who ogle them. From the car, to Yuri to Otabek in all his dutiful, suit clad glory.

Otabek doesn't ask if Yuri's okay or if he needs anything because he's been going with the explicit instructions to act like he's not there if the matter has nothing to do with his driving and sometimes that means he can pick and choose when to act like a person up there. He suspects those requests came from Andrei and not Yuri. Either way, it does not matter. His boss has the same expectations.

"Please wear your seatbelt in the car," he says in the most monotonous, non judgemental voice he can manage. Maybe it doubles as acknowledgement, at least, for Yuri's troubles.

The click is the indication Otabek has to wait for to be sure Yuri listens as he doesn't speak a word or any affirming sounds.

The rest of the ride is in silence. Punctuated by Yuri's fingers tapping into his phone screen, the car's signals and beeps and the occasional bout of road rage from outside.

Yuri doesn't hop out on his own when Otabek parks outside his apartment building, opting to put on his shoes first so it takes him a little time. Time that Otabek uses to do the necessary and bare minimum of his driver duties.

"I'll be down in about two hours, I'll text you," Yuri mumbles.

"Okay." Otabek nods. He wonders what emoji Yuri will beckon him with today, since he uses them in favor of words. The vast majority of their message thread is a series of emojis to which Otabek sends the repetitive "okay."

The chain around his neck is only one of many that Yuri owns, but that one in particular looks out of place with the bare, blue- white T-shirt and messy knot atop his head. And as he was vomiting into a trash can in public, it just didn't fit. Otabek can't tell if they're gifts or if Yuri buys them himself. One for every day of the week and more.

After Yuri's out, Otabek retrieves his bag from the trunk for him and stands at the driver's door with his hands clasped at his front until Yuri disappears into his building. At which point, he loosens his tie and tussles his hair out of the slicked back styling. He folds his jacket twice and leaves it in the passenger seat until he's got to swing back around to Yuri. It's too hot for it at all and especially so when he can get away with not wearing it.

* * *

He parks a little ways down and walks the neighborhood. Where he stands out in his suit and must look intimidating since he's forgotten to take off his driving gloves. Sara thinks he looks like a hitman, JJ says he _gets chills_ over skype.

Yuri's building is a pale green, five story palace. Bay windows that indicate not too high ceilings and balconies a little bigger than the width and length of an adult human body. Paid for, no doubt, by his extracurricular lifestyle and not his day job. It's a 15 minute drive East of the Bolshoi and near some pretty nice cafés and restaurants. Otabek frequents them when he has to wait. He's never been a coffee person, but he's tried more espresso drinks in the last month than he has in the entirety of his life. All 26 years worth simply because Yuri lives in such proximity to the temptation.

The job isn't horrible, though. Perhaps, underwhelming? The initial lack of transparency left him curious when, in reality, he's carting around a spoiled sugar baby with a foul mouth and an ill-fitting profession four days a week. Andrei's personal driver is someone of his own circle.

Today, he gets black coffee and a water bottle to wash the taste out of his mouth when it goes stale.

Then he sits on the rear of the car and swishes bitter coffee around his mouth before swallowing. Licking the remnants of flavor off his teeth and from under his lips isn't fun, but stupidly habitual for him.The sun's finally setting, but he can't see it through the thick line of trees that trim the edges of the little park.

Yuri sends an hourglass today — **⌛**

Otabek's gotten better at timing himself. He arrives well before Yuri saunters out of his building. Even gets a spot right in front of the door and waits outside, in the last moments of the sun's visibility, to open the door for his blonde passenger.

He's still got on that choker, but his hair is freshly straightened and center parted, putting the dirty blonde, sun darkened root of his hair on display. Gone are the modest threads he wore from the theater. Instead, he wears a fitting black button up, with a hem tucked into the denim at his hips and short sleeves. The open V from his neck and down his sternum gives well earned attention to the money around his neck.

"Take me to the hotel," Yuri says, and flings the back of his hand against Otabek's upper arm. Otabek almost forgets he had to make a stop so Yuri could empty his disgust with something unmentioned the side of a busy city block only hours ago until realizing that hand is the same one he used to block his mouth. The faint scent of soap flows off his hair in the breeze.

"Will do," Otabek responds and nods, shutting the car door once Yuri's got both denim clad legs in the car. He notices that Yuri's got on a thin line of eye liner too, when the boy grins up at him, though, Otabek's sure it's not anything truly amusing he's grinning at. There's nothing particularly funny happening right now.

He flat out laughs in the car. Wide open mouth, a great display of all his teeth.

Otabek almost wants to ask "what?" And, fuck, he actually says that out loud. Yuri's staring at him from the rearview mirror and, as Otabek occasionally _has_ to look into it, he sees him too.

His lips spread slightly thin when he smiles like that. Showcasing his teeth and those long fucking cuspids. He got a look to him, something unabashed that the gold on his skin, and the way the black fabric juxtaposes it, creates. 

"So, you do know more than okay and yes!" Yuri exclaims, clapping a single time before sitting forward a little and leaning close for a profile view of Otabek's person. 

"I was beginning to think you didn't speak Russian," he says, leaning over the small, circle air conditioner between the seats. "Don't be so boring," Yuri demands.

"I do," Otabek says plainly. Speak Russian. He doesn't take his eyes off the road. He's never been called boring before.

"Do you have gum?" Yuri asks, just as the scent of alcohol, vodka, of course, wafts off his breath and Otabek doesn't need to ask what for. "Andrei hates cologne, but I've had five shots and I smell like the vodka that spilled on me," he adds.

Of fucking course he has gum. Otabek realizes then, that he's not wearing his suit jacket when he grasps at his side to get it. He holds onto his tie, gripping it like an idiot as he mentally kicks himself for thinking he was doing so well. Yuri probably doesn't give a fuck, though. 

He shouldn't sift around in his folded his jacket while driving a car that costs more than his life's worth thus far. He reaches over to do it anyway, taking a single glance to his side and finding Yuri's still there, staring up at him, crouched down in the leg space behind Otabek's seat.

Otabek wants to say something, but he's so far from doing so that he can't tell if it's the desire to yell or chastise Yuri for behaving like cars aren't death traps gilded in convenience. No matter how nice.

"You should put that on, Andrei doesn't like the comfort look on people who work for him. He's so fucking anal," Yuri sighs, huffing out the breath as if he's under the same level of scrutiny. Well, perhaps he is. Otabek knows all of that already.

"Please put on your seatbelt." Otabek says, given he can't respond with an opinion of Andrei, but he's got a finger in an interior pocket when the heap of wool blended fabric disappears from his grasp entirely and into the back seat with Yuri.

What the fuck is happening? Otabek makes a sound akin to a gasp, but breaths through it as if snorting. The leather gloves tighten around his fingers as he grips into the wheel.

"I'll get it, chill out," Yuri sticks his tongue out in the mirror and unfolds and shakes his jacket out for a frontal view. He waves the fabric out like a sheet and pelts Otabek with the breeze. "Don't kill my vibe," he saunders, secondhand and to the air more than Otabek. He doesn't expect a response.

At the next red light they hit, when Yuri's got his gum and Otabek's jacket is safe in the passenger seat, he takes the time to undo his seat belt and put it on. Yuri doesn't say a word or move to look at him, though Otabek still feels like an idiot for needing to do this.

The crumpled ball of cheap foil flies over his head and rolls onto the dashboard. Exasperation hits him the same way a child's first wail in an airplane would

"Thanks," Yuri says.

Otabek smooths his hand over himself and readjust his hair all before the light turns green and makes a grab for the trash. He shoves it into his pants pocket to be forgotten as the scent of icy mint filters into the air off Yuri's breath.

There's silence for only a second until the sweet pitch of gum popping and bubbles exploding dictates that Otabek not ignore him.

Otabek rolls his eyes out of the slightest frustration and failure to comprehend the last few minutes. 

Andrei owns a few hotels. He has a few restaurants in Moscow and in St. Petersburg. Andrei is married and has a couple kids that live in the suburbs with his wife. In the city, he owns a few condos that he rents out for the most part. One of them, he keeps free. For recreational purposes. Yuri purposes.

That's what Otabek knows. That's what he and Sara figured out when Otabek told her his name and they proceeded to internet stalk him. He's a wealthy man with nothing better to do than cheat on his wife and fund a semi lavish lifestyle for 22 year old dancer. 

So much for _minding his damn business_. Otabek tries, though...to mind his business. Where it matters is where he succeeds. In front of them, he succeeds.

Andrei also takes care of Yuri in exchange for the companionship, apparently. Money's no object and Yuri reminds him of the arrangement fearlessly. Otabek doesn't know anything else to make any judgements.

He's knows that he's never taken them anywhere together. His duties have been a consistent loop of Pick Yuri Up and Drop Yuri Off. 

Today is not the same.

Otabek gets out of the Mercedes and opens the door for Yuri, who only glances up from slouching, shoeless and deflated, to tell him:

"I'm not getting out, _he's_ getting in."

Yuri hastily undoes his seat belt and climbs over the leather divider to the other side. It's not a rush to move that propels him, it's the force of alcohol from Otabek's interpretation of the sight. "Don't bother with the car, I got this," he says and settles on the other side. He fidgets around to grab his phone from the seat he left and makes himself comfortable all over again. He moves so Otabek doesn't have to circle the stone laden driveway.

Otabek thinks there's some thanks in order here, but no, he doesn't know their plans until they tell him. So, he doesn't say anything. He shuts the door and waits for the salt and pepper haired man, that pays his arguably nice - but could be better from what Otabek knows- salary and claims ownership over the boy in his back seat.

* * *

Andrei nods his acknowledgement and climbs into the car with purpose. The strong stride he takes from the brightly lit, spiral topiary lined hotel entrance isn't interrupted by the concierge wishing him a wonderful night or by Otabek's "good evening." His gaze is turned away from Otabek promptly at the view of Yuri. 

Otabek uses the two seconds it takes him to get into the car to suck in a deep breath and turn off the level of attention he's been paying to Yuri for the last few hours. The interactions they have are more plentiful today than any other. It feels like a tipping point, to something Otabek wouldn't be prepared for at any point. Typically, Yuri doesn't say much to him at all.

Andrei addresses him, as he's starting the car. He gives Otabek an address to type into his GPS. "Take your time," he tells him. Otabek keeps forward.

"Here," Andrei says. Paper rustles between himself and Yuri, the sharp clash of edges as it's opened make it obvious that it's an envelope. Andrei is the confirmation when he says "This should get you by while I'm gone."

Yuri laughs, an amused snort, pitched differently than his regular voice. Like when he's on the phone. "I'll be the judge of that. Thank you," he says.

"Also, I don't want to go to the lounge. I don't feel well." 

Otabek looks into the rearview at the mention of his name. "Otabek, the condo," Yuri requests. The flirtatious tilt of his head and the hand thrown into Andrei's lap seems to take hold of Otabek and manually shift his eyes back to the road. 

An address is unnecessary as Otabek has taken Yuri there most in their time together. He ignores his original navigation route and goes in the opposite direction, as requested.

His comfort isn't in question yet. Otabek isn't squicked so easily. He's only been driving for several months, but it's amazing the things he hears sometimes. The things he sees. The modesty that some people don't have. But that was in his Lexus and when he drove around entitled business men. The occasional working girl accompanying. Nothing particularly interesting. Semi private displays put on despite him at the most. Not lately, as Yuri's been the only presence for a while. Regrettably, this is the most interesting day in a while.

Andrei's eyes are on Yuri, so he notices nothing. Nothing that Yuri isn't offering him in the moment. Otabek's gaze at them goes unobserved.

"Thanks," Yuri says to Otabek as they move on steadily. He doesn't bother looking forward to say it, holding steady with the sly stare he gives Andrei.

Otabek thinks Andrei has a penchant for eye contact with the way Yuri pays it to him so attentively. He should stop taking those glances back. Eye contact would be gut wrenching at this point, but Otabek would admit that he's feeling a bit wary.

The hum in Yuri's voice makes him uneasy. Not as uneasy as Andrei twisted half smiles and hooded eyes.

"Ah, that's disappointing," Andrei sighs. "You got dressed up the way I told you too and everything."

"I know, I'm sorry. We can have fun at your place," Yuri whispers. His body is arched over leather between them, curved up erotically from the swell of his ass all the way to his neck. He speaks directly to Andrei's face. "I'll be good and I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"I was looking forward to the time out," Andrei says to Yuri's mouth. The quick press is interrupted by his words. "You normally enjoy the attention. Don't you crave it, Kitten?" Then they continue. The quiet slip of their tongues and smack of their lips is no louder than the soft purr of the car.

"I have your attention, and I want you to myself. That's all that matters," Yuri says. Otabek doesn't see him crawl over the seat and settle over Andrei's lap, the shadow he casts over the black poplar wood trim dashboard is reflective truth. Sure enough, he is there when Otabek sees the view.

"It is." Andreu hums an affirmative sound and rubs his hands from Yuri's thighs down to his hips. "Do I have yours, though?" Then his hands are on Yuri's ass, where they've been headed. Gripping into him like dough.

"I feel like a reminder would do you well," he threatens. Otabek can hear the dark groan in his voice. 

He's uneasy and it feels warranted every second more. He's seen things and heard plenty, sexual and otherwise. And yet, it feels like this is supposed to include him. It can't ignore things as they are, like he normally would. It doesn't feel right tonight.

"A reminder? I wear it to sleep every night, don't worry. We don't need that fucking place," Yuri says, his sentence is chopped into pieces between pecks.

Otabek's fingers grip into the steering wheel at 7 and 5. When they come to lights, he rests at 6 and reminds himself not to slouch or lean into the door for the duration of the ride he's taken several times. He takes notice of several things to keep from paying his attention back.

He only hopes they get to Andrei's condo before Yuri is naked. He doesn't see them being considerate at this rate. 

Truth being, he was waiting for this. He'd considered the likelihood of this exact situation the first week he started driving Yuri and the fact that it's been so delayed was some stroke of luck. With the way Andrei grips Yuri up and gropes him all over on the most obscure and dark of streets -outside of locations where no one should realistically know him.

"No, we don't," Andrei says, bringing his hands to Yuri's waist and coaxing him forward, down the thighs he's resting upon. For more friction, from mouths to crotch. "Come here."

"For what?" Yuri prompts.

"Come, find out," Andrei whispers. "Otabek, stop the car," he says, louder. Clearer.

"Of course," Otabek says. He pinches himself on the thigh with his free hand for speaking before looking to park. He didn't need to say anything. He shouldn't have said anything and now it's apparent that he's very much listening and present. It's hard to ignore a presence that speaks. Though, maybe that's what he needs to do. 

Remind them that he's very much fucking there and he doesn't care to hear more than the moust melding of their mouths that haunts him right now. 

He figures, once parked, on the side of a dark park on a long street, that he can get out. That they can do whatever it is Yuri's in Andrei's lap for and Otabek can stand against the car's hood and wait. A blessing of an out from this mess. Even without any verbal dismissal, he'll take it. He's got to exploit the chance.

But. "No, don't get out," Andrei says at the click of his seatbelt.

Otabek makes pure eye contact with the man when he looks into the mirror. His facade is a reflection of challenge and temptation to Otabek's terror.

"Andrya," Yuri hisses. His gaze is zeroed in on Yuri once more.

"You like attention, right?" He responds. "Isn't that why you dance? What's the use if there's no vulnerability as Victor would say." 

The asshole chuckles, but Yuri doesn't validate him in his amusement.

"Vulnerability or control? Don't quote Victor at me!" He says. "Tell me what you really want."

Otabek watches the road outside the window. The people sprinkled up and down the street lack purpose in their strolling. They pay no mind to the Mercedes and they can't feel the tension Otabek does. The tension that wells up in him by the minute and makes his suit feel snug and warm.

"Doesn't this feel better? It's always hotter with an audience, especially one that can't help themselves."

Otabek feels the chill at the base of his spine spread high. 

"How do you know-" Yuri starts, the words stop abruptly with faint moan, "-if he wants to hear us fuck in this car, bastard. Don't be so rude."

"Oh, Yura, don't act modest. He won't care, he knows what we are,"

"It's not even your car to fuck in, anyway," Yuri reasons. The pause that comes is punctuated by kisses.

"I'll buy it in the morning. How about that? Does that turn you on?"

"Yeah, it does," Yuri whispers. 

"And you want me, right?" Andrei says.

"Mhm," Yuri hums.

"And you don't care who sees," he continues.

Otabek can only assume Yuri's nodding. He won't look back. He can't.

"Good boy," Andrei near sings, disgustingly slick praise in his voice. "A good, Kitten."

"Ah,"

Otabek doesn't want to know what Yuri sounds like moaning.

"Aah-huhh-" is a airy, almost amused sound.

He really doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is what I write when I don't have the motivation for anything else!!!


	2. Otabek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one's crawled into anyone's lap, though, and actually began to strip their clothes off. That was new.

The steering wheel stops being enough. He presses his thumbs into his leather covered palm and his finger into the back of his hand and crushes them together. He wonders, under the weak huffs from behind, whether he could squeeze through his skin entirely. If it's possible at all and just happens to be one of those things your brain won't let you do, 

"Do you have it?" Andrei says.

"Yeah," Yuri breathes. "Condo," 

_Please,_ Otabek hopes. Yuri puking in public wasn't some foreshadowing stunt as it was simply just concerning.

Every time Yuri huffs and sighs and gasps, Otabek grows heavy. The seat molds with him until he's one with it. It's like he's sinking. The same way he would in a dream that leaves him flailing out of the sky as if there was anything up there to fall off of. 

He makes it further into his seat when the groans cross waves of gooseflesh over his skin. Physically, he's gone nowhere, not even one of his fingers has twitched, but he is entirely present and aware and overwhelmed. He doesn't need to turn or glance at the mirror to know what's happening or how it's happening- 

The higher powers at play are clenching around his insides with a relentless and paralyzing grip. Squeezing harder and harder and- Jesus fucking christ, he can't seriously be hard right now. He can't still be sitting here? Couldn't he just get out?

Wasn't Yuri advocating for his comfort minutes ago? Can't he keep doing that...or something…tell him to keep driving, perhaps, so that Otabek can stall his nerves.

He could just get out. He could-

"I'm calling Matryoshka," Yuri groans. 

"You don't play fair," Andrei growls.

Otabek's eyes flicker up. The car in front of them has a vinyl decal on the back window that is only a cat. There's no family stuck on next to it. Otabek looks at that for a second, without thought, before his eyes venture up and into the rearview mirror. 

Through it, Yuri's button down is open, falling off his shoulders like a shawl would. He is slender, built entirely of muscle, but Otabek already knew that. His shoulder blades flex visibly as he moves. His muscles are pulled taut and toned and work under his skin so clearly as they whispers to each other.

Otabek waits and Yuri comes through.

"Otabek, go," he says. Andrei doesn't protest.

* * *

He remembers reporting to the office to find Sara, as she's hanging up on a call. Where he lies into the desk and settles on his elbows, as casually as usual, and asks what she knows about his new situation.

_"You've gotta pick up someone named Yuri Plisetsky later," she'd said, handing him a stapled set of papers. It's nothing but legalese and conduct agreement matters._

_"Oh, do they just want to ride in a Mercedes for fun?" He'd asked. "I guess people confuse frivolous and important when it's worth money?_

_"It all sounds pretty average honestly, but I looked it up and the location tonight is actually at the Bolshoi!" She took a glance over her shoulder at the boss's office before cupping parentheses around her mouth and whispering that "he's not the guy paying for this ride though, someone's picking up the bill for him. Maybe there's crime at the Bolshoi."_

_She giggled at that. Otabek gave a small smile to her amusement. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd driven someone with certain privileges._

_"Crime in the Bolshoi? Impossible," he joked back._

The rest of the conversation, the middle and the end, was a blur because he didn't think much of it as it happened.

The majority of the people he's driven for have done nothing at all back there. Those people are in town on business and don't want anything but for someone to be outside and ready to go when they're ready to go. They need rides from airports and want a service more sleek and professional than a cab. Plenty of people have also made out in the back of the Lexus he used to drive. It was fine because he didn't really care. Not when the giggles got more sensual or when hands found their way up thighs. 

No one's crawled into anyone's lap, though, and actually began to strip their clothes off. That was new.

JJ's says he's got his motives for doing this job and only shrugs when Otabek asks what he means. He knows that it doesn't mean JJ wants him to quit, and suspects it means Otabek should be doing some much needed soul searching or something.

For a heavy several minutes, Otabek considers quitting his job anyway. He's not offended or traumatized, but his knee is bouncing almost uncontrollably. He could stop, but it's helping him from feeling like his stomach is falling out of his ass. All of his insides have collapsed down into the pit of his torso. Like he's in trouble and someone will be chastising him for it soon.

He almost doesn't want to get dinner while waiting for Yuri, but he drives into the tiny parking lot of a fast food chain anyway and sits there for several minutes before getting out and contemplating his life in a corner booth with a nice view of the Mercedes. Where there's dried remnants of some condiment on the wall underneath the table that makes him feel himself up quickly for the possibility of carelessly dirtying his suit.

After falling onto his elbow and burrowing his face into his cupped hand, taking the chance to breathe away the tension, he combs his hands through his hair with a frantic spur. The bench isn't so comfortable. Not soft at all, so it stings to fall against. 

He eats his fries one by one and prolongs the sitting experiences for nothing but idle musing. And once they've gone cold and he can't sit still and wishes he'd gotten something other than soda, he leaves.

There's a Starbucks across the street and he couldn't be bothered by the overpricing right about now.

Otabek tries to make sense of being shaken by the experience and can't say that the situation itself is what makes him feel weird, though it is incredibly obscene. The obscenity isn't the issue. He doesn't think so, not when his blood pressure seems to get back to normal and he's not the slightest bit fearful and aroused all at once. Not anymore. Because It's then that he realizes he simply knows too much about Yuri to ignore. Or rather, he's gained too much insight into the margins of Yuri's life to be a silent presence in his desecration. 

It doesn't sound pretty that way. Maybe it's not supposed to sound pretty either.

But Yuri isn't his friend. They don't communicate outside of the chauffeuring to and from his black card appointments from Friday night to Sunday night. When Andrei has reign over him too. And during those days Otabek is on the clock for as long as Yuri needs him. Within reason of course. Those were the conditions and that's what Andrei pays for.

But Yuri's not a 40 year old banker, he's 22. He gets angry and says so, he curses at Otabek and he lies in that back seat like he's earned the leisure or like it's going to swallow him eventually and he's _okay_ with that. Alternating between either reality with such ease it's as if he exists in the realm of them both simultaneously.

Around midnight, Otabek sips down the last of the hot latte he buys, despite it being the dead of July and dry in the air, and gets back into the car. He's had too much caffeine today, that's why he's obsessing.

Yuri comes out of the side entrance of Andrei's building. Where slightly tall hedgerow line the short, gated path. The single light fixture above the door, buzzing with gnats not long for this world, is bright enough to light the entire walk Yuri has to take to the car. The yellow shine creates a halo effect around his head, glowing and smudged at the edges. 

He's alone. His shoes are one to both of his hands. His eyes watch the ground in brow furrowing contemplation as he gnaws on his bottom lip.

The reddening trace of a hand print curving around his wrist are glaring even from where Otabek stands. At the sight, he can't help thinking that maybe Yuri wishes he'd worn long sleeves even in this heat. And like he has been, Otabek keeps on his streak of wondering what Yuri's reasons are.

Except, as Yuri climbs into the car and sniffs and blinks through the moisture in his lash line, Otabek realizes he's near tears. He considers, when he's back in the car and pulling off the curb with Yuri's face very visible in the side mirror, that maybe Yuri's reasons aren't what they used to be. Perhaps they aren't his own anymore.

Otabek looks into his rearview. He sees Yuri's fiery stare seemingly directed out the window but certain seeing into the air before himself. His attention doesn't reach beyond the window.

The choker still looks out of place.

He takes Yuri home without a hitch. Yuri's sniffling does give a somber air to the silence. One that Otabek's not certain he's a welcomed audience for, Andrei's words be damned. 

So Otabek rolls down the window on the passenger side to let the sound of rushing air and life on the streets of Moscow give Yuri some room to breathe.

* * *

  
  


"If you've got something to say, fucking say it!" Yuri demands. There's a wild rustling that makes Otabek pause before getting out, cupping the handle without falter as he gives the words some thought.

It doesn't look like Yuri's done anything, he is still in place, though, thrown forward some to close the distance between them. All his hair is flipped to one side of his head and falling steadily from his crown as he stills. He doesn't acknowledge that they've arrived at his home. Doesn't even look out the window.

Otabek stops three cars down from Yuri's building because there aren't any spaces that close and Yuri won't give a damn as it's thirty past midnight and he never gives a damn even when it's later. He's not going to be upset by taking fifteen extra steps. Personal drivers obviously aren't a privilege he's familiarized with. Yet.

"I don't have anything to say," Otabek answers back. He winces at the harsh snort that exits Yuri and sounds like something the boy shouldn't be able to do. Like a chortle and a shriek all at once.

"You suck at that," Yuri says, throwing himself back against the seat so hard it makes the car tremble. Otabek grimaces at the shaking. "At lying," Yuri adds.

"I'm not lying," Otabek says, Yuri's looking at his head so he doesn't see Otabek look at his face through the reflection. "Some things aren't my business," he says, which is true. The angry indents on Yuri's wrists aren't his business and neither is the thick, gold chain clasped around his neck. The hands that were gripping incessant handfuls of his ass several hours ago, and whether Yuri found any enjoyment in the assault or not, isn't anyone's business but Yuri's.

"Would you really have fucking sat there while we fucked back here?" Yuri asks in such a way that it feels ludicrous to say anything other than _of course, not!_

Still, he doesn't say that. In fact, he feels the underwhelmed deadpan Yuri pays to him when he shrugs like being engulfed in hot, dry air. Inescapable.

"Maybe?" Otabek admits.

Recalling how stuck he felt, he can't say he'd done otherwise for sure. There had been a point in the car that he thought he may have been capable of closing his eyes and transporting himself to a level of consciousness that wouldn't include them. He'll never know for sure because Yuri demands that it doesn't happen.

"I don't know," he settles on. Yuri's narrowed eyes are focused on his head, almost like he expects Otabek to turn and explain himself. 

"What the hell?" Yuri exclaims. Otabek's not sure what to think when he hears the disbelief in Yuri's pitch, not so much surprised or disgusted as he is confused. "Why? This job can't be that fucking important!" 

"No, it's not," Otabek confesses. It's truly not. Would Yuri expect him to do something different? When he could have just not crawled into Andrei's lap so willingly. If there was any offense to be pointed out between them, it wouldn't be Otabek's. Perhaps if Yuri asked the question differently, like _it didn't bother you that-_ No, Otabek could ask him too, _is it that important?_

"But you wouldn't have cared? What are you, some kind of freak?" Yuri accuses. 

He kicks one of his sock clad feet forward, into Otabek's sight without warning. Regardless of Otabek shifting and the wide eyed stare, Yuri descends into Otabek's space intentionally and purposeless, kicking over the center console to crawl sloppily into the front passenger seat like the uncouth heathen he is.

"Yu-"

Otabek means to say words. He doesn't get that far and it turns into an incomprehensible groan, lead by the first syllable of Yuri's name. It's his turn to stare, disbelieving, at Yuri's flagrant disregard for having manners.

"You get off on that shit or something?" He asks, falling back on his ass with an unnecessary haste. His body is turned at his hips as he settles on a single bent knee. An arm thrown out to hold onto the dashboard and the other digging into the shoulder of the backrest with his elbow. He's facing Otabek head on and daring him. For what? Otabek's not sure he'd even be able to guess.

"On what shit, specifically?" Otabek asks. Defeated, he presses back into the seat and works on pulling his gloves off. Then reached under Yuri to stuff them into the glove compartment.

Yuri leans about, around his movements and watches him attentively. "Watching?" He shrieks. "You get some kind of sick voyeuristic thrill out of it or something?"

"Oh," Otabek says, flatly. "Well, it's not like I wanted or asked for you two to do...that," and Yuri doesn't like that he says it. The audacity of him...must be projecting.

The blonde sucks his teeth and rolls his eyes so far back his irises disappear for a fraction of a second. It's not the chain that accentuates the fern green glow of his irises, but gold in general. Otabek doesn't intend to notice it, but being that Yuri's staring small fires into the pieces of Otabek his eyes laser over, it's hard not to take note.

"So, you just let people get away with treating you like that?

Otabek would say the same to Yuri. It'd make him a real asshole considering it's Yuri's own self perception that's been violated. But because he's completely capable of being an asshole when he wants to be, and he wants to be right about now, he doesn't opt for saying anything.

He braves the fire in Yuri's eyes, staring for several seconds too long and making a gutsy point of checking out Yuri's wrist immediately after. To which, Yuri inflates with gasp and squares up in his seat at him. 

With his wrists tucked securely between the warmth of his thighs, Yuri yells at him: "I don't fuck that bastard cause I like it!"

Otabek winces and wishes this interaction could end already. Now that Yuri's said his peace. He's obviously been holding onto that for longer than even he could admit. Or croak, cause it sounds like a sore spot's been hit. 

"You don't know shit," Yuri murmurs. "He's not supposed to leave marks-"

Frantically, as that just seems to be his nature now, he leans back over the console, bruised wrists visible as he holds on, and snatches up his shoes.

Otabek watches him try to get out, but the doors are locked by Otabek's own doing. 

"Hold on," he says.

With his back to him, Yuri wails out of frustration and pauses for the door to click. When he's free, he breaks out like that freedom is threatened.

He's free and he doesn't look back once while he's running.

Otabek feels low when he sees the bottom of Yuri's feet after each stride. Yuri's just like that, but Otabek was trying to be mean and it just doesn't work for him. He still feels heavy.

  
  


* * *

The anxiety doesn't exactly subside by the time he gets home, it just shifts into a pressure that makes his heart pound. _"You let people get away with treating you like that?"_ He relives it and considers saying something different to Yuri's insistence. 

He wishes he had. Maybe he wouldn't feel like this if he had. 

No, he'd feel it even more if he had.

It's nothing short of bizarre how much more curious he is now. Even more so that he's so...

Normally, it's a quick tug in the shower. Less frequently, it's half conscious petting between himself and his blanket when he's near asleep and too keyed up or _just_ comfortable enough that rubbing one out is soothing at best. 

He doesn't seek out visuals or much of any stimulus aside from his mind. A days worth of thoughts and frustrations, piqued curiosity and sudden desires are enough. Anything more feels like too much effort when he's not looking to make it last very long. Getting off is enough.

Guilt and mild concern won't honestly allow Otabek to envision Yuri when he shoves a hand down his slacks, using the other to fumble around feebly with the buckle beneath his navel. Strange temptations make him see Yuri anyway. The golden, blurred edges of his being under that old light fixture, the halo it gives him...is wildly motivating. The terrifying way he cuts his eyes at people and sneers about things is exciting in that Otabek feels like a viewer of Yuri's turmoil. He's the passenger. 

Otabek doesn't know anyone like Yuri. He barely knows Yuri for that matter.

It's so wrong, he knows. Someone is being tormented by life and he's the disgusting fucker with an erection.

As he loosens his tie, and his belt buckle has fallen open, and the button pops open with a satisfying ease, he feels the slightest bit irritable. Looking at himself now, he wonders what a partner would find attractive about this scene. Maybe the quite apparent way his cock swells to the side and against the inseam or how he's thrown his hair out of order fucking with it when he couldn't fuck with himself or anything else for that matter.

He's against a bare wall, a meter inside his apartment, with a slim, iron decor mirror hung up opposite him. Lip between his teeth, breath held carefully because if he lets go of that tension he'll cum right there. The door isn't even shut entirely. The lock he triggers too soon juts out and keeps in from falling into place with the frame.

It's the memory of that chain dipping into the hollows of Yuri's collar bones when he tenses his shoulders that pushes Otabek to the edge and makes him huff harshly through his nose. The streamlined makeup of Yuri's torso, bare in Otabek's memory as his hands worked over Andrei. Flexing the muscles that cross his back and arms are what draw the desperate breath from Otabek's mouth as his hips jut off the wall and he spills into his palm with a hand cupped around the tip. He makes a mess of his fingers as it dribbles down and drips to the floor between his loafers.

A shameful fucking mess. 

And then he stares at himself, uninterested in adjusting his clothes with his cum covered fingers but genuinely disturbed by the exposure. He's not so removed from life that he can lie to himself about what the fuck brought that on and just how long it's been flourishing inside him. When he's hard again, he doesn't lie to himself. 

He thinks of Yuri saying _Otabek_ the way he does while he's in Andrei's lap and dangerously far into character to break that wall and address Otabek as he normally would.

He feels like a creep. Worse than. As he washes his hands, ignores his cock, throws his clothes into a pile on the floor, which becomes a folded pile on the chair when he considers how much they cost. And then collapses over his bed in nothing but his briefs and tries to figure out what Yuri means by _he's not supposed to leave marks._

As a dancer, he's probably supposed to be flawless. It makes sense. He'd probably get in trouble with his superiors for even considering performing like that.

Maybe it's so that Yuri can forget? Otabek wouldn't blame him for getting angry emotional over that. He couldn't.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something made me sad and my first response was to come back to this because I have EXCITING plans for it, though I haven't written entirely too much of it. Anyways, if you're reading, I hope you enjoy it :)


	3. caffeine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What if I'm being forced?"

Otabek doesn't expect for Yuri to request him the next morning, but as guy who likes to think he's okay at his job, he's always ready. He doesn't feel like he's much good at whatever it is he's supposed to be exceptional at, but it works. He's ready. It's his job to be, even in the offhand kind of way that it ends up being. Yuri doesn't have a set and routine schedule and there are typically long breaks in between driving him and sometimes, like last night. 

Otabek doesn't have much purpose outside of getting him from point A to B, which includes waiting aimlessly for the trip back to A. But after all, that is his baseline purpose. Nothing much beyond that.

**oi** Yuri sends, as Otabek is already about to be in his way.

**bring me caffeine too**

Otabek has to get out of the car and get back in line in the coffee shop to get it. It's a sunday and so it doesn't take long. He considers just allowing Yuri to have his own, but the lid is stained by the swishing liquid and there are droplets around the mouth. It's the slightest bit warm at this point, so he buys another. And packs a dozen sugar packets and creamers into a paper bag just in case.

Today, Yuri's wears a velvet string around his neck, wrapped twice and tied in a knot on his sternum. The look suits him, more even with his hair in that pile that only half of it fits in on top of his head. His t-shirt is black and the strings blend in well with the eclectic graphic of a cat surrounded by colors and shapes and Japanese scripts. The fabric is eating him whole, hanging passed his pockets even.

His sneakers are thick at the soles and lengthening for his legs, kicking forward like doll's feet as he stomps. He looks at Otabek and walks in his direction as if he won't stop until he's popped him in the jaw. Otabek doesn't hold his gaze long enough to bare his interests on his face.

Yuri tosses his black cheetah print backpack into the car from a good distance and says "Jerk."

The oversized sleeves slide to his elbow when he reaches up to grab the paper cup out of Otabek hands and completes his fall into the car. Yuri dodges looks and holds the cup low. "I need to go to that fucker's condo."

"Okay," Otabek says. He nods a single time. Will today be as eventful as last night?

"Okay~" Yuri mocks, childishly, with a twitch at his eyes and his tongue stuck forward, as the door closes. Otabek definitely doesn't slam it, though, the abrupt sound of Yuri's voice disappearing after the door is heavily gratifying. He nearly expects to get chewed out.

His grin is modest and lasts just until he gets back into the car. He wonders what Yuri might have left or if maybe he means to break things off with Andrei. By some chance maybe there's nothing obscene to subject Otabek to anymore. No more things he may have to fight himself about morally. Carnally. And he'll never see Yuri again.

"You got me black coffee? This is disgusting."

"You asked for coffee," Otabek tells him. Then he takes the paper bag of condiments from the passenger seat and offers it back over his shoulder. "I have cream and sugar here if that'll make you happy."

"It doesn't and I said caffeine," Yuri mumbles. "Next time get raf or something."

Otabek almost misses it, but when he considers a next time he wants to ask Yuri  _ why.  _

"Got it," he says. 

Yuri snatches the paper bag from his hand and huffs through tearing it open. 

Why are you doing this? Why are you such a little shit? Why don't you wear your fucking seatbelt?

A bunch of fucking  _ Why? _ Otabek refrains from asking and looking back, or at least he tries. There's a frown stuck on Yuri's features and he dumps creamer after creamer into his cup until there are surely none left. Otabek hadn't grabbed that many. Yuri's nose is still scrunched up when Otabek looks again, the cup is rested at his lips. He probably drinks espresso for the milk and sugar, not the pick me up, and so the bitter kick of coffee is hardly pleasing. It just is and your learn to deal.

Oh well. Otabek keeps driving. Yuri will have to  _ deal _ .

He only ever enters Andrei's building through the back, so Otabek pulls up adjacent to that parking lot and finds that Yuri is actually not rushing to get his ass out of the car, giving Otabek optimal time. 

"Wait here, I'm coming right back," Yuri says, gliding passed Otabek with the scent of vanilla wafting from the strands of his hair that fly on the wind. He walks and shoves the mostly full cup of coffee into Otabek's chest.

The mouth of the cup is conveniently facing away from him. The liquid barely misses Yuri's hands as it splashes out of the small opening and decorates Otabek's knuckles in sticky warmth over leather.

Otabek looks over himself before narrowing staring Yuri down as he disappears into the back entrance of the residence. 

Yuri's the jerk. Otabek snorts. He stops thinking for only a second and then chuckles. He drops the cup into a can where it falls apart under the momentum and the splashing contents of the can.

There's got to be a coffee shop near here that he can get to in a minute and back in 5. He can't recall where exactly if he's ever seen one. He doesn't spend much to in such close proximity to the frequented locations.

Otabek takes a look down one street and then a glance down another and decides to find Yuri's raf. Although he doesn't know how long he has before Yuri comes back and that makes him hesitant. Still, he walks like it'll be any minute now. 

He's hot in his suit. His skin is slick here and there, his hands itching, but he doesn't take his gloves off.

It's not praise he's looking for by successfully acquiring a new drink for Yuri in the twenty minutes the boy actually spends in Andrei's condo. Good, because Otabek gets two very long blocks away and realizes the 5 minutes he set himself to had already gone. And although Yuri's not going to praise him for it, in some small way, it will shut him up. Well, unlikely, but maybe?

He asks for it to be made piping hot so that when Yuri sips it it tastes as fresh and new as possible. Otabek just wants to see his face when he notices.

He sets the cup into the holder and ducks out of the car to shut the door again and wait attentively for Yuri to shove out of the heavy metal door several yards away. Otabek's got the car open and on when he does.

He's scowling...But it's not anger, it doesn't look that way etched into his features, more like worry. Extreme annoyance, in fact.. 

Yuri doesn't say anything, doesn't even pay Otabek a glance as he gets into the car, his wrist turned out and visible to both of them.

"This is so fucking  _ fucked _ ," he says with a particular emphasis on the hiss of his cursing."I don't know how to make these fucking marks go away without freezing my damn hands blue and I don't even think water works!"

Yuri sucks in a deep breath and grumbles to himself. "If I have to wear makeup on my fucking wrists--" 

Otabek, having been just sort of waiting for his reaction, only slightly smirks at Yuri's weak scoff. He starts the car and gets them going.

"You asshole," Yuri near whispers. He kicks the back of Otabek's seat with the flat of his foot. "You actually went to get it."

His lips flatten out to a line again before he glances at Yuri in the rearview. Yuri's already staring at Otabek when he does look. Their eye contact is short lived and semi interesting, what with the excited spark in Yuri's eyes and the accomplished glow in Otabek's.

"You must be proud of yourself, but I'm not saying thank you," Yuri reminds him.

"I wouldn't expect it," Otabek has to remind him too, but his jaw clenches and his cheek twitches when his seat trembles a bit and the sound of leather rustling under pressure echoes in his ears again.

"You sound like that, but it feels personal," Yuri says about the pretense in Otabek's voice.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Liar!" Yuri says unnecessarily loud. His voice dwindles to an acceptable volume before he says "you're just trying to fuck with me."

"Why would…" Otabek mumbles."It's in my job description to do what I can for you." 

"Within reason, of course," he adds, as he thinks of sinister and wicked things that flash before his eyes, conjured up in a single second from some place deep. Lacking in substance, he doesn't see anything, he simply feels it- an overcast of dread and fear.

It slips away quick at the rumbling of Yuri's voice, forced out with a twang of bass that just doesn't sit naturally on his lips.

"That's it, huh?"

Yuri snorts his breaths.

"Yes"

Otabek ignores his rearview. 

"You're not pissed about last night then," Yuri questions. "Not even a little?"

"There's nothing to be pissed about," Otabek says. Though, on principle he wouldn't agree, he himself just doesn't care much to hold in the shock and cultivate anger out of it. Yuri isn't pleased, then again, Otabek's not sure when he's able to tell when Yuri's pleased or happy or disgusted-

"Stop speaking like you're working, It's not like I'm leaving you bad reviews or something."

"But I am working?"

"It's fake and I don't like it,"

"I'm not your friend, I'm just a driver."

"Oh, man I couldn't tell," Yuri practically moans. "A driver who knows what I sound like when a guy's got his hands on my dick- I'm sick of you sitting up there all quiet and shit!" 

"Again, that wasn't-" 

"Silently judging me." Yuri flails his hands and fumbles around in a moment Otabek can't exactly take his eyes of the road, ultimately slapping his hand over the seat and fingering at Otabek's shoulder. Lightly enough that his spine goes a little stiff and he straights while simultaneously shrieking in.

"It's annoying," he says, close enough that Otabek feels the breath on his ear and the static in the short, fine hairs along his neck.

"I'm not judging you, Yuri," he sighs.

"And you're not curious? Like, why am I doing this anyway?"

"It's not my place to know."

"That doesn't mean you don't want to."

"I don't, your reasons are your own," Otabek shrugs until Yuri catches the hint and pulls up, palming the back of the seat. "Please, sit-:

Yuri cuts him off, leaning back in to say more, griping into Otabek's shoulders until his long skinny finger prod through the fabric and dig into the hollow points around his collarbones.

"And what if not?" Yuri asks.

"What if I'm being forced?" He asks. "Is your moral compass disturbed then?"

What good would it do Yuri to know Otabek finds Andrei a disturbing presence? What good would it do either of them to even joke about that...

"Well, I would hope that that's not the case, I guess," he says, brows knit in and disgust in the slight scrunch of his nose. He doesn't have an opinion and even if he did, Yuri doesn't need to know it. They shouldn't even talk like this. Otabek should have his bubble and it should be intact and sound proof and-

"Tuh! You guess, huh?" Yuri laughs. 

He tosses himself back into the seat and throws a foot to the front, not to climb but to rest there besides Otabek. His socks have tiny Garfields on them.

"It doesn't matter anyway."

* * *

Otabek does nothing when he gets home. Well, he does shower, and set his suit aside for dry cleaning, and then he does nothing. Mostly because he doesn't want to think as lately it feels like all he has to think about is Yuri. Not what he'll eventually do with his degree or if he'll stay in Russia. Not the layer of dust that's kind of settled over everything because he doesn't use every inch of his apartment, though not very big at all. About grocery shopping or the health of his social life that has all but died since his parents actually died.

He falls asleep in the exact position he stretches out in, waking to a reminder that he does have fucking friends and he doesn't need to torture himself with pity and hopelessness because he's none of those things, he just lives alone and happens to be missing an outlet, perhaps.

JJ spams him before he says goodnight. With a diamond ring between his pursed lips, hovering close to Isabella's lax, unconscious face. There are several blurry takes of JJ getting closer, and a final one with her grimacing out of her sleep. It features JJ's panicked face, puffed cheeks and the wide eyed, blushing emoji over Isabella's halfway exposed left breast. He spares no effort making sure the deep blush color of her areola is completely hidden. Otabek wonders how close he is to them that JJ is fine sending him pseudo lingerie pictures of his soon to be fiancé.

**gonna do it one of these days** JJ sends.

**had to hide the ring in my mouth for that last one**

**don't tell Bella I sent those until we're married!**

**call me when you wake up!**

Otabek blinks through the film over his eyes to see the photos. They're nice, even if messy –especially since messy–, in a way that'll make recalling them at an event or in a photo album sweet. They're dated an hour back, a bit late for a returned phone call in Quebec.

With his toothbrush in his mouth, paste trickling over his bottom lip and leaving round white droplets on his sink, he scrubs at his teeth subconsciously while reading over JJ's spam in his other hand.

Quebec is seven hours ahead of Moscow, so at 9 am Otabek wonders if JJ is perhaps still awake. He immediately has the feeling that even if that was the case, JJ wouldn't want to have the conversation he's hinting at with Isabella likely lying next to him.

Otabek sends a weirdly angled selfie of himself with his toothbrush blurred as it's in motion with toothpaste foam dripping down his chin.. He regrets it almost immediately, but JJ won't particularly care to judge it, so the feeling fades quickly.

**Doesn't she have access to your phone?**

Afterward, he asks  **is sex an important sugar baby criteria?**

After he's spit and swished away the mint flavor on his tongue he chuckles to himself for a solid 30 seconds about being a sugar baby. Unlike Yuri, he's not quite slender and long. His muscles are apparent, but only under a normal layer of fat, while Yuri has not an ounce of fat on him anywhere Otabek can see. Yuri could curl his toes and his calve would flex like each muscle is an individual digit. But his shoulders aren't as broad and he never seems to have even a little facial hair. Otabek's not sure he could even grow it.

The thought serves as a reminder that Otabek should shave too. He doesn't though, his shadow is just that and not too alarming.

He'd be a niche find for a wealthy guy... or would he really? He could satisfy a lonely, middle aged women while making great fucking money off of her. Maybe? Hopefully she's not too needy because he's not the best at emotional connections. He's honest to an almost considerate degree, though, and he's not shallow and maybe he could fake everything else. He could probably even make himself okay with sex. It's not as if his parents are around to disappoint anymore. 

Yuri can't think he's that condescending. Why would he? Because Otabek doesn't talk about his thoughts? Most people don't incorporate his presence into their from A to B experiences. Most people don't care to have more than an  _ how are you? I'm fine, thank you _ kind of exchange.

He's supposed to be working today, but Yuri doesn't seem to have anything to do, seeing as he hasn't requested Otabek or made an plans and giving Otabek a direction.

Still, he's got to be in the case that Yuri does.

While collecting the portions of his suit, the foil that falls out of his pocket is the leftover trash from Yuri stealing his gum. The tiny ball turns out to be the rectangular cut of foil with a message scribbled onto it 

The message Yuri leaves on the gum wrapper is a face with the tongue out of the side of its mouth. The inner wrapper, because apparently he took two pieces, says  _ I'm going to fucking off myself.  _ There is a circle with, what Otabek assumes is hair, springing from the top and poorly drawn gun at the side.

He almost laughs. Almost, as then he feels stuck in place and heavy. Guilty, again. He can't help the imagery of horrors that pop into his mind. Made up entirely of Yuri's rage and the anxiety he feels as a catalyst of sorts. 

* * *

"Sugar babies don't have to have sex, I think it's a case by case thing," JJ muses, raking a nail through his brow as he thinks. "Did it seem sketchy?"

The video call comes through as Otabek is scrolling through his socials aimlessly and trying to finish the sad excuse for breakfast sitting lukewarm in a ceramic bowl before him. Hours late into the day, but any meal he has first is breakfast, as habit makes him call it that.

"Not entirely, but sometimes it feels like Yuri would rather stab him to death than talk to him," Otabek says. "Let alone fuck him in the back of my car."

"Maybe it's a Russia thing?" JJ blurts out, as if it could even be an option, though he's well aware of Otabek living there for several years. "Wait! Did you just say they were in the back of your car? The Mercedes!?

"More like a Yuri thing," Otabek says without thinking, moving on quickly to avoid the accusations and fantasies building in JJ's mind. "Nothing happened. Well, not really. They just got touchy, I guess."

Of course, it doesn't work. A wicked, thin grin spread across JJ's face, revealing only the line where his teeth meet. "Are you actually worried? He must be growing on you now, huh? That savior complex is gonna get you in trouble, Beky."

"It's not even like that." Otabek shakes his head to keep from having to blatantly fail at maintaining eye contact.

"If you say so," JJ says, and then he stares at Otabek like he's got something to say, except that something is probably something Otabek is well aware of already and doesn't need to have voiced again to be any more real.

JJ moves on in a blink, dipping out of the frame for exactly 17 seconds Before a shimmering and blurred circle appears in the camera and take several moments to adjust.

"So, I have a few vague ideas," JJ tells him. "Isabella is in class," he says, and so he feels comfortable twirling a silver, cathedral halo pave ring with a marquise diamond and several smaller diamonds sloped around the edges to line the main diamond. Otabek leans in involuntarily to see the ring as it steadies into focus and JJ grins at the unintended face of concern Otabek makes. 

"This what I was trying to show you!"

"That's fucking huge." 

"Isn't it?" JJ winks. Otabek raises a brow at him. "Third biggest thing I'll ever give her."

"Because your ego is the first?"

"Sure, my  _ ego _ ," JJ purrs.

"Well, what's the second?" Otabek asks. He doesn't take the bait for a penis joke gone stale.

"The house I'm going to be in debt to my ear for! Anyway!" JJ curls his hand and lets the fall over his finger. "I need to send you a picture of it, this webcam isn't doing it justice, I swear."

The soft, loving way he observes it, slipped halfway down his index, is nothing short of amazing. That's how Otabek would describe it if asked. Bella is nowhere in sight, but it's obvious she's with JJ, in his thoughts and his hands. The ring is practically hers already.

Otabek only stares as he attempts to slurp up his Shchi, still slightly cold as the microwave doesn't warm it the best. The bowl is warmer than the soup.

"Bella likes to have stories and memories and—I don't know, shit that makes your friends cry at get togethers fifteen years later or something." he says, leaning in on the cam and setting his head in his palm. His other hand still hovers over the keyboard, angling to allow him to view the ring every which way Isabella eventually will.

"I honestly think she'll enjoy anything you do, JJ," Otabek reminds him. 

"Yeah, I know, but…"

"You want it to be perfect," Otabek fills in for him.

"Yeah!" There's a loud scrapping sound as JJ forces the chair back under his weight and stares down momentarily to see any damage and decides to start pacing through his nerves. Banging his knee on the arm of the sapphire blue couch he's had since Otabek lived in Canada.

"I think her graduation night would be a good time, after all the celebrating of course, because she's worked so hard and I wouldn't want to take away from that. It feels like she'll see it coming if I do It that way,"

"What if you just told your families after the graduation?" Otabek says. He slouches into his chair and folds his hands behind his head and let's go of the breath he'd been holding. "It'd still be her day and she can show off the boulder you're gonna put on her finger."

"That sounds good, problem is I don't even know how to ask! Which is why it hasn't happened yet. I mean, a great date and a proposal would be fine, but we always have great dates!"

"You could just do it, today...in the morning, without all the extra details?" 

"Oh, maybe after some really great sex?" JJ stops pacing to swipe his fingers over his chin in a plotting fashion. The mirth in his tone makes his brainstorming seem like a scheme to rope her in. "Like, mind blowing–can women pass out after an orgasm? Like, that kind of great?"

He hadn't meant it like that, but even without the mention, there's no doubt it'd probably go down that way. "Well, aside from not being the kind of story you'd tell at a party, that sounds like an on brand option."

"I'd be a story I'd tell you, though," JJ snaps and finger guns Otabek down through the screen just as the notification that pings into view is from Yuri and says:

**fucker!**

**I need you**

**hurry up!**

Otabek notices, though he's still listening, and to JJ he goes on…

"Not that I would ask-" Otabek says just as JJ is taunting "all the way down to the tongue-"

And before allowing the rest of that sentence to filter into his mind, over his own words and his will, Otabek claps and settles up to exit out of their stream. "Talk later, JJ. I've gotta work."

"Say hi to your princess for me!" He says with a frenzied pace and high pitch to make it before Otabek shuts him out.

Otabek doesn't finish his soup. He does, however, leave his house in a nice, pressed suit with crumpled gum wrappers in his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update comes as a gift from my impatience, I do hope you enjoyed it 🥴


	4. one to ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He should go. Get food. Go home. Do something that doesn't involve watching the hedges and lights and the starless sky.

An angry cat. Yuri sends Otabek a cat emoji.

And in response, Otabek decides to caffeinates Yuri unprompted. There is little thought applied in the process. He simply gets his own coffee, sees the cat message and envisions Yuri's skinny feet and bony ankles kicked into his space and too close to his cup, and doubles back to the line. It's late enough in the day that, neither don't need caffeine or pick-me-ups, but out of pure nonsensical wit Otabek acquires it anyway. 

Likely the same reason he still has those gum wrappers. They're at home now, though, one over the other on his nightstand.

When Otabek sets the cup into a holder and feels the accomplishment seep out in the sigh he takes leaning back out of the car. He knows he's got a problem, but it's easier dealt with by ignoring. If he doesn't think, then there is no acknowledging that the validation of bringing even the slightest momentary joy to Yuri is something to be enjoyed. 

All sans the expectations. It wouldn't feel the same if Yuri was thankful or expected it. Besides, it's just fucking coffee.

Still, there is something wrong with Otabek. A 170 centimeter something, with blond hair, a flagrant attitude and penchant for disassociating in the back of cars. 

He gets the drink and anticipates Yuri's bitching.

Then, he drives several blocks to the Bolshoi. 

Otabek waits patiently, drinking hot coffee on a hot night.

And, of course, Yuri doesn't say thanks...he laughs and he says "you're easy to train" as he makes himself comfortable and tosses his shit around the back seat.

His shoes come off. His feet are tucked under him immediately.

JJ's going to gag out of suggestive hope and scandalized satisfaction when Otabek tells him that Yuri considers him trained. Otabek wants to laugh at himself. Not because it's true, but because Yuri joking about it wouldn't deter him from continuing anyway.

It's like a game, except it's not supposed to feel so okay. Otabek didn't anticipate that.

Perhaps he is, too... 

Trained. 

Otabek gets an almost smirk inducing kick out of Yuri winking in the rearview when he takes the first sip. His face is still made up from the show and he looks ethereal. Delicate to the touch, but the persistent fire in his eyes suggests that he's constantly on the edge of exploding. He's a star. 

It's been a week and Yuri isn't pissed at Otabek like he was, so he's not so easily set off. It's only a matter of time until he is, but for now things are settled. They're calm.

Otabek has to remind himself of reality, lest he begin to understand why Andrei is so possessive. It crosses his mind, but ultimately he concludes that Andrei is just a terrible person. Yuri's wrists aren't bruised anymore as he's not trying to hide them, but God knows what else he is actually hiding. When he may feel he needs to.

Instead, Otabek gives his attention to the road. Much out of his control though, Yuri is far closer to his foreground. Harder to ignore. The shifting and his noises. Somehow, he looks fucking happy in the glimpses Otabek catches. His teeth are nice, straight, not unnaturally white looking. 

His collarbones jut out perfectly and his chain makes a view of it.

Was this some kind of post performance glow? People look their happiest when they love something, right? Otabek's never asked about Yuri's feelings on his career, but professional dancers at the Bolshoi are surely the top of the top and who gets there without loving it? Well, maybe extreme dedication and prodigal complexes are effective methods too...but those don't sustain.

Otabek refrains from physically reacting, though he does get hot. Even in the air conditioning, the heat builds from inside out. His suit feels stuffy and what he needs is a really deep breath with the most guttural of groans at the end. Just to force out some of the tension that makes his finger grip into the wheel like they do when he's in his head like this.

He can't do that in good conscience right now. So he speeds, ever so slightly, down an empty street instead. It doesn't last long. He breaks appropriately and early, and puts two hands on the wheel like a student.

Yuri laughs at his phone in the back. 

There's a ping and he's quiet.

Otabek takes the time to pay him some attention, for only as long as the red light allows.

Yuri's face is covered in pastel blues and purples-makeup left over from his show. His eyes are lined at his lashes with white and a dainty crown woven with fake twigs and flowers sit atop his head. The collar adds aesthetic that Yuri wears well. Terrifying and angelic. Fae enchanted, with tiny braids and a knot at the crown of his head. The look inspires a bit of curiosity in Otabek.

He mulls over asking what the show was for a little while, but decides against it ultimately. 

To top it off, Yuri's wearing that choker again, the flat gold one that brings out the green in his eyes and taints his image and makes his throat look particularly more interesting than it normally is. Otabek is as curious of the thing as he was before and every other time he's seen it.

"Where are you even from?" 

Yuri asks the question out of the blue while Otabek is stopped at a light. He sits up and nearly elbows Otabek in the shoulder as he settles for leverage. He smells like a candle Otabek's smelled once, it's earthy and reminds him of an open field or something frolicing and fairy adjacent. 

"You're not Russian." 

Obviously, he's not Russian...well, it's obvious to Otabek and Yuri's right, so no harm done.

"I'm not, I'm from Almaty." Otabek says. He doesn't flinch when Yuri touches him this time, not that he forgets to or has gotten too comfortable, he just doesn't. It takes him a hot second to notice even. Yuri's weight nearly settled into his own. He doesn't shuffle around awkwardly or go rigged along his spine. He's very much aware of it.

"And where the hell is that?" 

"Kazakhstan"

"Oh, honestly, I knew that..." Yuri speaks with a surprisingly tame tone and Otabek realizes that that's why he doesn't feel like physically placing Yuri into his seats and strapping him in to stay. There's no malice in his voice. No accusations or cries for help. He sounds content and interested.

"You came to Moscow to drive?" Yuri asks. There's an annoyed shrug that accompanies the prying ridicule in his voice.

"No, I lived here with my parents," Otabek says, though he doesn't enjoy talking about his parents it's not like Yuri would know that.

"And you still live with them?" Yuri asks. 

Otabek bites his bottom lip and goes a bit harder on the gas.

"They must be loaded, your suits look expensive, but I don't see you having that kind of taste."

"They–" He starts, because he does realize how insensitive it'll sound and he almost considers saying something differently, but Yuri is probably…

No, Yuri's most definitely not the type to get uncomfortable with candor. So long as the topic at hand isn't himself.

"They're dead," he says. He's a 26 year old man and his parents have passed already and it's been a few years and he's not going to break apart just by acknowledging it. No matter what JJ may think.

Yuri goes noticeably stiff for a fraction of a second. Maybe death is too candid a topic?

"Shit," he says, lacking all remorse and delicate inflection, though Otabek can hear the subtlety of his trying. The scent of espresso is sweet on his breath.

"Sorry," he says.

The way it sounds like there should be an "I guess" attached at the end takes away from the sentiment. Yuri simply gives as much feeling as he can muster..

"You're not having some internal meltdown now, right?" In his peripherals, Otabek can see Yuri twist to watch his profile.

"No, it's fine," Otabek says.

"So, were you loaded or no?"

"Does it matter?"

"You give off privileged vibes," Yuri says, plucking at the seam on Otabek's shoulder. "Like piano tutors and fucking cosmetic dentistry." 

More and more, Otabek forgets why he ever tries to be even halfway emotionless. A pent up breath, laced with some amusement, escapes from his middle before anything else. Those were very small parts of his life, but Yuri's not exactly wrong about that either.

"That's funny to you?" Yuri groans, feigned disgust on his lips. "Definitely loaded, huh? What are you even doing here?" 

"I'm a driver, Yuri"

"Because you want to be?" Yuri snorts. "How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-six."

"Nice, you're not that old." "You have time to not be a chauffeur before it's too late."

"That's dramatic."

"How good of a piano player are you?" Otabek never says that he is, but Yuri's not wrong about that either.

"I don't know anymore."

"Do you do anything other than drive?"

Otabek doesn't answer, he honestly does give it some thought though.

"So, no?" Yuri rolls his eyes and scoffs. "At least I have an excuse to do nothing but dance, the longevity here is hard to guarantee."

Otabek finds himself autopiloting, watching the lines painted into asphalt and the lights that hang above and going through motions while Yuri speaks. He's hard to ignore. It's impossible. He smells good. His voice sounds good to Otabek's ears. His breath tickles differently than usual. Otabek takes in the subtle stimulants and doesn't attempt to pry the slightest little smile off his face. 

He's not being curt for fun, he truly isn't sure how to go on like Yuri. In some way, though, he knows Yuri is probably enjoying it. Overloading the socializing any way he can because he obviously finds fun in toying with Otabek. That much is clear and almost welcomed.

"One to ten, how good are you?"

"Huh?"

"Piano?"

"I really don't know."

"I have a Japanese friend who's great on the piano and the fucking violin," Yuri all but sits on the compartment, next to Otabek like it's a valid optionfor seating."All while being a great dancer too, and he has the nerve to be fucking shy."

"Are you shy too, asshole? Or has no one ever asked you to talk about yourself?"

Overwhelmed is a understatement. Otabek feels like he should be wriggling in his seat, very pubescent and childishly. Like he’s got a crush. Really, what the fuck?

"My family was very modest," Otabek says, quietly.

"If I looked like you, I wouldn't be modest," Yuri says back, plucking Otabek in the shoulder.

"Like you're modest now?" Otabek retorts before he thinks.

"I think you already know that I'm not," Yuri snorts.

Otabek thinks of seeing Yuri's back naked and hearing his voice...different than it is now. Lower. Raunchy and lust ridden.

Otabek's quiet, to himself, but he's not oblivious. Otabek says nothing to him after that because he shouldn't, not like this.

Yuri boos him. Insults Otabek's ability to have a conversation under his breath. He tosses himself into his seat and types aways about something to his phone.

Silence is especially heavy when it follows weighted words. Otabek's simply not sure what to say that would be right. It makes his stomach churn and his heart pound. 

Teeth clenched, fingers tight around the wheel, Otabek breaths a bit loudly. A labored exhale that adds more to the mood than he's okay with and he hadn't meant to do it.

He tries so hard to maintain the nonchalance. He really does. Yuri makes it so difficult.

Why does he do that? When he just... invades Otabek's space and carries on as of he's above reproach. As if there's some comfort to be found in their proximity and bonding. When they're only here because Yuri's some dreadful man's toy.

Otabek only realizes he's frowning at his thoughts when he looks into the mirror before taking a right turn and Yuri got a lip tucking between his teeth.

Yuri eyes him from the reflection and Otabek holds the look for longer than he means to. Yuri blushes. He fucking blushes, Otabek is sure the flushed glow is exactly that. The makeup doesn't cover how he becomes a little red, even under the shadows in the car.

Otabek focuses on the road and doesn't think about it for his own sake.

Listening to Yuri word vomit every thought and question that forms in his mind, while nudging and plucking at him simultaneously and unnecessarily, has absolutely given Otabek a genuine boner. It's damn embarrassing even being known to only him. 

At least he hopes so.

They arrive. Yuri’s stuffing his feet into some converse when Otabek gets out and strategically places himself right behind the door. The only words uttered then:

"Don't wait around, I'm staying."

Otabek nods, the eye contact is heavier than it's ever allowed to be as he shuts Yuri's door and stays entirely still until Yuri disappears inside. He doesn't even dare to breathe until Yuri's gone.

He's left with his thoughts and his feelings. Feelings that Yuri conjured up and Otabek manages to perpetuate because apparently he is a very feeling person. JJ may be onto something with his internalizing something, something, blah theory.

Otabek isn't so naive as to think all of Yuri’s tantrums are detached from the state of his life. He may be fine, but he is not fine. It doesn't take a slight break and physical illness to classify anyone as unhappy. Unstable even? Does Otabek know enough of anything of substance about Yuri to say?

In spite of that, like Yuri, here he is again. Parked a little ways away and rested with his ass against the trunk of the car, but most of his weight on his feet of course, fiddling with the knuckle cut outs on his gloves and occasionally tugging his slacks down his leg to keep from bunching awkwardly around his cock. Hot under his collar because it's genuinely warm inside his penguin suit.

Andrei must be hot too, all the time, but he's never out of place in his bespoke ensembles. And all the undoubtedly air conditioned places he spends his time must keep him cool enough to compensate. 

The apartment building is tall. Otabek's never quite looked up at it as he spends most of his time wondering how Yuri got involved with someone like Andrei. Why he would continue to be involved.

The entire structure is a glass cylinder. Metal columns circle around, separating the large window panels, as glossy as the glass itself. Otabek imagines that it feels good to just walk into the place. Still, somewhere, beyond all the niceties, Yuri's inside getting felt up by some dementex bastard and Otabek isn't sure he's even allowed to say no. No matter how the aura in the car may feel, the reality of the situation always comes biting.

The parking lot and the the street is illuminated by the reflection of moonlight off of the glass and metal panelled buildings, uniformly dotted light poles, and the glow of lit up high rises and store fronts–the same light that ensures the night sky in the city is never really black and makes it so hard to see the stars is a nice metaphorical scene for life.

He should go. Get food. Go home. Do something that doesn't involve watching the hedges and lights and the starless sky.

Do anything other than stand here and wonder what roles he plays in Yuri's tarnishing or If Yuri keeps perfectly polished jewelry on when Andrei uses him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was gonna be longer, but the story takes a turn and I figured...why not leave this interaction of theirs as a stand-alone moment 
> 
> will formally edit tomorrow, os, bc it's 2am :))))


	5. WWOD

Yuri won't ever know it, but he inspires Otabek to go into the closet in the hallway and pull out a box of things he hasn't looked at in years. Perhaps things he's never really  _ looked  _ at at all. It includes a book of his mother's sheet music, a Quran his father gave to him when he moved out and several random things he finds to be more important now than they were ever before.

There's a little book of how to cook an assortment of Kazakh dishes that he'd taken from their home without them knowing. They never asked him about it though, which was strange considering how worn it is and he knows his mother had it for a long time. So long, she didn't need to use it to make any of the things in it apparently. Maybe that's why?

There must have been some intention, some desire to connect, in the action, but Otabek has never even used the thing. And now it's tucked away because he can't even find the will to make futile, never to be gotten around to, plans for it. Fuck.

It's too much. 

He shoves the box back onto a shelf, switches off the lights, and then sits on the floor. He's tucked into the corner, underneath the hems and sleeves of jackets and winter coats. 

The hallway is bright and casts a stream of light over him in the dark. While he holds his knees, head void of all thought, he counts the floor board across the small expanse before him, several times over and once more.

The weird thing has always been that he isn't particularly sorrowful or angry at the world. He doesn't have the energy or the emotional capacity to be anymore. Indifference just has to do. It has to.

He doesn't ignore his phone, especially not when it buzzes in quick succession. The way only JJ is capable of for him.

**BEKY**

**MY GUY**

There's a picture of Bella in his arms, a grin the size of Russian on his face and one of her shoes discarded on the pavement. It's blurry, like whoever took it was moving along with them. Otabek can't see Isabella's face, but the way her arms curl around JJ, he can tell she's happy.

**Skype tmrw?**

Otabek stares at the picture a little while longer. In the time it takes him to type out a message and fail to send it because he can't match JJ's energy right now, Otabek realizes the cafe they're outside of in the photo is where they had their first date. It's disgustingly beautiful.

And because he doesn't have the energy to mope anymore, he showers in water hotter than he's used to. The steam feels nice. The way he feels weightless is almost just as nice, considering he normally feels heavily. Grounded, except by a force that isn't particularly nice. Jerking off for a max of three minutes feels only slightly better, but he doesn't enjoy the post euphoria because it never comes. Literally.

* * *

There are several things should Otabek accomplish before JJ sends his Skype request. 

Like, cleaning up that layer of dust that settles on surfaces when they don't get used much. Or finally taking his suits to get dry cleaned. Or perhaps invest in some groceries that make complete meals...like the ones in his little Kazakh cookbook.

He does none of it. In fact, he lies there, bathed by the sun because he never shuts his curtains, and watches the ceiling. The particles that dance in the stream of light that spread across the room. Finding strange interests in plucking at the fine hair across his abdomen and brushing his toes over the floor, just barely touching.

He doesn't feel anything in particular. Relaxed isn't the word...unbothered, maybe?

He wonders how long it's been since he's gone to a gym, then he thinks about going until his thoughts turn blonde and he wonders if Yuri’s left Andrei's without him. It's a Monday. Yuri never stays over on Mondays...Well, not as far as Otabek knew. Mondays are work days for Andrei. For most industries. Otabek would drive well into the early mornings if need be, but Yuri doesn't ask for that. And Otabek won't know a thing until the weekend comes back around again.

It'd be a lie to say he enjoys days off. There's just too much time for everything. So much so that he can do nothing. Perhaps Yuri's right, he should do something else. 

But that thought gives him anxiety, so he forces it down and focuses on something else. Something like the dumbbells on the floor by his dresser.

So, when JJ's call finally comes, he drops into a chair in front of windows and does bicep curls with a 30kg dumbbell.

JJ wastes no time. Leaned over his screen, face close enough to the webcam that Otabek can see the pores along his cheek, JJ's watching the screen as if he was doing something important.

"I think you should come to Quebec," he says, even as Otabek is side lit by sunlight and lifting a weight, perfectly set up for some crude joke he was most definitely expecting. He's not looking at him.

"I have a job that physically requires me to be here," he takes a breath and switches arms with the dumbbell. "In Moscow," he sighs.

"Eh, take off. There're plenty of people in Russia, must be one that can drive in your place," JJ shrugs, still hawking over the screen.

"JJ-"

"I know you Otabek!" He says, finally falling back into his chair and clapping his hands together before his mouth. The gesture makes Otabek pause, both of them, staring at each other in perfectly stillness.

JJ points his hands, pressed flat together, at the screen. "You get all withdrawn and dodgy with the communication when something's going on and I can't hassle it outta you when you can hang up on me whenever you want," JJ takes a beath.

"Or lie," he says, rolling his eyes. "I mean, you-"

"You could come to Moscow?" Otabek reminds him. Not a true suggestion, but he could if he was so worried. JJ, doesn't protest being cut off.

Otabek sets the dumbbell on the floor and pulls the laptop on his knees.

"Unlike you, some of us don't have 7 figure rainy day funds," JJ scolds, brows knit to the bridge of his nose. Otabek doesn't consider it so, as it's nothing he's earned, but JJ doesn't throw the details around for his sake. Funny how he doesn't have many real worries, but that's the most debilitating thing for him.

Otabek frowns, but he doesn't have a response for that very true point. 

"And! I just got engaged and Isabella is especially generous these days."

Also true. Otabek wants to reason that that's all the more reason for them to not have him around.

JJ's tone changes and he grins at some distance offscreen. "Wouldn't want to short either of you on your JJ time, y'know? Plus, I'm not talking, like, a few days. I mean, you should stay through the rest of the summer."

Otabek actually scoffs at that. JJ groans at him for it. They speak at once and pause to stare at one another. Several seconds go by as Otabek assess the seriousness in JJ's request and JJ holds his gaze to make that point exactly.

"That's too much," Otabek says to JJ's stillness. Combing his finger through his hair and suddenly imagining the feeling of his skin, hot in his gloves. "Really, JJ, I'm fine. It's just…"

"Whaaat?" JJ all but whines, slapping a hand to the desk. "It's just for August. Quebec is beautiful in August! Come to Quebec."

"I'll think about it." Otabek sighs.

"Don't brush me-" JJ words are lost as Otabek anticipates his unappreciated argument and defends himself before JJ can finish.

"-It's not a brush off."

"Saying the nice things just to appease me, is a brush off. I know you well enough." He says it sarcastic and sweet, but JJ glowers at him from beyond his camera.

Otabek, already sure it won't work out and promising JJ he'd try anyway is only slightly dishonest. In his gut, even as he watches JJ give him narrow looks and impatience grimaces, he probably won't even do that.

"August starts in like a week, I don't know if I can even do that on such short notice-"

"I won't be satisfied, until you try anyway."

JJ grins at him, wiggling his brows and shrugging a gesture of  _ no matter _ . "Otherwise, I'll just have to come there and get you, pack your shit for you and drag you along."

"I'll try, JJ."

"I'm just concerned with how hard!"

Otabek successfully changes the subject by reminding JJ that he's engaged and congratulations are in order.

* * *

**Hey?**

Less than hopeful, Otabek texts Sara because he says he would try. 

**What are the chances I could have the entire month of August off?**

It's a hypothetical, not an actual request...but Sara is sweet and she likes to be helpful, even if after some fuss. In the middle of getting the Mercedes washed, he asks, because he doesn't see it happening for him. Not on such short notice. Right? 

Being in Quebec, for all the good JJ is and promises to give, would only depress him. Otabek needs the distance. He needs the routine and the familiarity of Moscow.

**JEEZ, OTABEK!?** She says as he's paying.

**I'll see what I can do.**

**Any particular reason to make your case for a WHOLE MONTH 🤔**

* * *

Otabek can tell Yuri's had vodka when he picks him up that night. It calms him and brings a sort of serenity to the ride after Yuri rolls his eyes at Otabek and flops into the car like a weight.

"Do you drink?" Yuri asks at some point.

"Not really," Otabek says. In college, he did so plenty, but that's only because his occupation made room for it.

Otabek doesn't take it personally that Yuri doesn't speak much the rest of the time they're together.

The person Yuri is for Andrei is a lot different than the person he is when they're confined to the car with only each other.

It's when he's most restless. Hypersexual and under some disgustingly vulgar scrutiny. When Otabek frets the most like this is of any concern of his. In some way it is. In some moral way, perhaps, he's an enabler. 

"I have all of August," Yuri snorts to the phone. "Don't be greedy," he tells Andrei.

Otabek knows that it's him because Yuri's voice has a specific pitch to it. A low one that generally indicates someone has fucked, or been planning to fuck, the person on the other line. He's aware of that custom, though he's never been the voice on the other side of any call like that.

Yuri kicks out to the passenger seat with the ball of his foot, arched out to press his sock covered toes into the leather. Otabek notices and it makes him crane his head some to Yuri's reflection. Slumped in his seat, eyes draw up to the roof, pupils hidden behind his eyelids. His teeth clench together like he's in pain. It's disturbing to see, but even more potent at sparking some curiosity in Otabek.

Simply knowing he shouldn't react to Yuri and every word from his mouth, doesn't manage to keep from doing exactly that. He's on edge about being touched or talked to, almost expecting Yuri to target him and do virtually anything he wanted to Otabek, like they're more than acquaintances.

But they're not. If Otabek didn't have this as a job, he'd probably never see Yuri again. They'd never exchange another word with each other. Never another emoji. He probably wouldn't try to either...Even if he knew how simple it would be to buy Bolshoi tickets. Even if he may want to. Even if he knows where Yuri lives by heart.

It was much easier weeks ago, when driving Yuri around meant as little as the thanks you give a stranger for holding a door. Nothing with Yuri seems to mean little anymore, which isn't a good fucking thing.

Otabek can't find any good in that at all.

"You just don't know how to share," Yuri groans.

"I know," Yuri snorts.

"Your kitten,"

"You."

Otabek feels a chill on his spine. Yuri's so quiet, he wants to look back and see the undoubtedly green tint to his complexion as he fights regurgitating his lunch.

"Don't tell me you wanna be called daddy now," Yuri laughs, disbelieving, Otabek can tell. "A freudian nightmare?...Don't you already have kids?"

"Maybe," Yuri says.

A silent pause passes before Yuri says anything else.

"Can we stop?"

Otabek, in an attempt to keep his mind on anything else, but failing as he hopes to never hear Yuri call Andrei daddy, doesn't realize Yuri's words are for him and not a phone call.

"Yo, Otabek?" Yuri pops up in his seat. 

"Are you okay?" Otabek asks, straightening up. Easing up on the gas because it's just a habit.

"Don't flip shit, I don't need to puke this time," Yuri groans. "I'm so stupid," he scoffs under his breath.

"There's a deli here," he says, louder, leaned up and staring out the windshield with Otabek. "They make the best piroshkis."

On the outskirts of downtown, somewhere along the Moskva, Otabek pulls over and doesn't wonder why Yuri suddenly wants piroshkis. Otabek has never seen him eat much of anything, but it doesn't feel like a deed done out of obligation to Andrei and so he likes it. In some strange way, Otabek enjoys watching Yuri shove his feet into his shoes and crawl out of the car with purpose.

He waits, idly, while Yuri trots across the street. Yellow hair bouncing in sync with himself. Shirt molding over his torso under the wind. He disappears into a brightly lit store where Otabek can't see him over the decor in the windows.

When he returns to the street he's got a paper bag in hand and his hair tucked into half a top knot, already chewing on one of those breaded pouches.

The rest of the drive is in silence. Quiet outside of Yuri's rustling around. Otabek almost forgets he just had the car cleaned under the strange calmness until Yuri’s brushing crumbs out when he's leaving him for the night.

There's a black band around his neck, contrasted by his yellow hair and pale flush under the July heat. It looks like a collar...for a leash.. Yuri may be bold, but he's above something like that...at least, Otabek thought so, but what does he know really?

By some weird miracle, Yuri actually utters a weak "sorry," as he stumbles out.

It does nothing for the fact that the smell of food lingers and Otabek absolutely hates it now that he’s left alone to know it'll surround him once he gets back in the car.

They're back to the outside of that glass and metal apartment building, Otabek stands along the curb and watches Yuri toss the paper bag into a can and disappear for a short while behind some the hedges.

Otabek lingers, with a hand curled around the door handle, grip closer and closer to pulling it back open. He never does.

He watches as Yuri stands aside a Rolls-Royce, leaned over the window. Back arched enough that Otabek notices.

Andrei isn't much taller than Yuri when Yuri's wearing sneakers that have a sole as thick as the width of his hand. There are holes torn into his skinny jeans, so big and frayed it's questionable as to what the point of wearing them is. Yuri's legs are sculpted, not from marble, but maybe the closest to perfect anyone would ever get. His thick white t-shirt has an embroidered outline of a cat crawling out of the pocket over his chest.

The thing clasped around his neck is nothing short of a collar. That Yuri surely wasn't wearing before getting into Otabek's Mercedes. And Otabek is sure because, for as pathetic a reason it is, he pays attention to Yuri’s neck. He knows.

Did Yuri put that on in the car? While Otabek tried to ignore him and mostly failed...

A stripe of black leather meant to strangle Andrei's claim into Yuri's skin. The black tag that hangs from it says something Otabek has yet to see well enough to comprehend. 

Yuri's still done up still from a show. The makeup is very much more refined than it was last time, but it's becoming.

Yuri looks like he belongs somewhere special and to something important. Somewhere where self expression is inseparable from freedom and sexuality isn't trailing by far. A cause that much of Russia hasn't caught up to. That his own parents, so assured in their righteousness, would only  _ tsk _ and shake their heads at, slightly and slow. No words uttered because they know, so confidently, that they are right in judging him. Now that they're gone, though, maybe he can kiss a guy and not feel like it's for naught. 

Instead, Yuri's here, dancing around the parking lot on light feet and under the pressure of Andrei's advances. Dancing. Drunk. Avoiding. One foot over the other to the right with a sway and Andrei follows, hands cupped to a near hover over Yuri's hips. Yuri crosses over his own foot, to the left, twirls and grins, and takes careful, slow steps back. Andrei follows. There's never more than an arm's length between them. Just enough that Andrei keeps coming and Yuri stays untouched.

Otabek's here, as he often is, and yet it's never bothered him so much.

From where he stands, it looks playful, and if Otabek didn't know any better, that's what he would assume was happening. 

Yuri's smiles, though weak, make him seem almost playful. They drift further and further into the empty space, further from light and Otabek. Behind columns, alternating under lights and amongst shadows. 

When he's not glancing up through his lashes and creasing his forehead for the view, Otabek's watching nothing that actually gathers his attention enough. He's staring into the open space and only seeing what obstructs the view.

Contemplating whether Yuri meant to tell him to go and if it's okay for him to assume.

It's not difficult to notice, in his peripheral, the quick and hasty jump in Andrei's shoulders, straining against the blue-white cloth of his shirt. 

Yuri's half done ponytail, tied into a high, messy knot again, serves as leverage in Andrei's hard, veined hand as he uses it to grip so hard onto Yuri's hair, his head tilts back far enough that he absolutely has to arch into Andrei to keep from caving in and crumbling to the ground. 

More disturbing than that is the grip into Yuri's jaw that forces his cheeks in, hollowed and bruising. From there, Andrei's hand sinks to the collar around Yuri's throat, fingers tucked under the strip of leather and pulling so hard, Yuri stumbles into him for relief on his neck.

"Shit," Otabek mumbles. Was Yuri not just...dancing?

Otabek stands straight as his hands begin to tremble some and it definitely isn't because he's had too much coffee this time. He stands, and takes one step forward, a single leather clad foot lifted to the curb, arched and working flat slowly as he's not sure he's committed to what he moves to do.

What  _ would _ Otabek even do?

Yuri coughs. Otabek can't quite hear anything they're saying to each other, but he can see the scrunch in Yuri's features and the twitch of his body as he resists heaving. Andrei backs him up to a wall, their forms disappearing and appearing again from behind pillars.

"Fuck," Otabek whispers. His stomach does a number of things and his skin feels prickly inside, like pins and needles stabbing over the layers of muscle and fat inside him, pulling away until he could practically crawl out.

Yuri manages to shrug Andrei off, stumble back off the man's body weight because when Yuri pushes it's not Andrei's balance that's disrupted. He's too sturdy. Yuri pushes, not daring to reach for the man's face, with fist curled into Andrei's suit and Andrei's fist around Yuri's wrists. They part enough that Yuri gets his arms back and Otabek can see Andrei smiling.

Yuri’s arms cross. His mouth moves, but Otabek can't hear his words and yet he knows there's venom on Yuri’s lips. He can feel it in himself too.

Andrei comes in close, cupping Yuri's face and kissing him hard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEL, 
> 
> I just realized I may have lost some italics and bolded words by using HTML and now I have to fine the will to fix that :))))


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